Virginia Tamez: Anticipating an Ianless Christmas

I sit in a room that is dark
(but not dark enough)
and is almost empty
(but then there's me)
and listen to noise from another room
(where people are happy)
and think about you.

I take off my glasses
(so my tears won't smear the lenses)

and hope someone goes looking for me
(but doesn't find me)
and realize that my hands are cold
(my mind was elsewhere)
and think about you.

I picture you sitting beside me
(would this box hold our weight?)
and chew a vanilla-flavored tootsie roll
(I can feel cavities forming)
and wonder if these scissors will cut skin
(hypothetically, of course)
and think about you.

I leave the room by myself
(your ghost is too shy to follow)
and tell everyone I'm okay
(well, the one person who asks)
and I give the best smile I can muster
(still trying not to think about you)
and think about you.